


Home Smells Like a Charcoal Grill

by CarrKicksDoor



Series: The Secret Everyday Lives of the Avengers [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Food, Gen, M/M, more domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrKicksDoor/pseuds/CarrKicksDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Captain America may be able to cow just about everyone with the force of his personality, Steve Rogers is, essentially, twenty-seven years old, and Bruce is, well, not, and he perfected a ‘don’t give me that bullshit’ stare over the top of his glasses against Culver freshmen a long time ago.  Steve’s just going to have to take his quest to eat at every food truck in New York a little more slowly.</p><p>---</p><p>How the Avengers bond over food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Smells Like a Charcoal Grill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWriterChick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterChick/gifts).



> Some spoilers for the season finale of Agents of SHIELD. There's also some frank talk about Ward, his incredibly problematic behavior toward Skye, and the difficulties women face in traditionally male fields, particularly those involving combat. This is in the second section of the story, so it is easy to skip if you are at all triggered by discussion of sexual assault, but I have tried to approach it in such a way that the subject is addressed by a community of supportive and understanding women.
> 
> The two recipes at the end of the story link to the Star Wars blog I write for and the "Bake It So" column I occasionally update. Hope you enjoy.

When Bruce puts his foot down about the amount of take-out they’re all eating, he doesn’t expect Steve to be the one to complain. But while Captain America may be able to cow just about everyone with the force of his personality, Steve Rogers is, essentially, twenty-seven years old, and Bruce is, well, not, and he perfected a ‘don’t give me that bullshit’ stare over the top of his glasses against Culver freshmen a long time ago. Steve’s just going to have to take his quest to eat at every food truck in New York a little more slowly.

The new rules Bruce sets in place are that take-out is allowed during missions, 24 hours after completing a mission (he’s not a monster—well, he is, sometimes, but that’s not the—never mind), and otherwise once a week. If you want pizza, fine, but be prepared to make it yourself. JARVIS will be supervising, and anyone not following the rules will not be forced to deal with Bruce.

They will have to answer to Pepper.

***

Natasha observes from the kitchen that Skye, one of Coulson’s team, is sitting on the sofa in the lounge, staring out the window in silence, with a pint of ice cream and a spoon.

“Ward,” May says quietly from behind her. “She’d had feelings for him. I think, after a fashion, he had feelings for her. Then he turned on us.”

“Having your SO betray you is something anyone recovers from easily,” Natasha says. Clint himself is in the wind, and that’s simply because Coulson has turned up alive.

“It’s worse than that.” May pauses. “He threatened to take what he wanted. And he had decided that he wanted her. That’s finally hit her.”

Natasha straightens. “She should have let Garrett kill him.”

“She’s not that kind of person,” May says.

Natasha reaches into her pocket, pulls out her phone, and shoots off a text message. Maria must be in the building, because it’s only a few minutes before she shows up, raising her eyebrows questioningly. Natasha goes to the freezer, pulls out three different flavors of ice cream, gets three spoons, and both Maria and Melinda follow her into the lounge.

Skye looks up, surprised when Natasha sits down next to her, popping off the lid to her pint of ice cream, because snack time with the Black Widow probably isn’t something she’s ever thought about. Natasha takes a bite, then says, “One of the many good reasons that Maria was Director Fury’s second-in-command was because she had a unique perspective on field work that others in SHIELD didn’t. When you’re in an organization that’s primarily made up of men, they forget—or never realize—that female agents deal with particular sets of problems that male agents never face.”

“There will be days when you’re told you can’t do something because you’re a woman,” Maria says, dipping her own spoon into her ice cream. “You’re too fragile. It’s too dangerous. Because the kind of torture women face can be very different than the kind men do. Though not always.”

“You’ll get told you’re too emotional, especially at certain points of the month,” Melinda says dryly. “That you can’t be ruthless enough.” (Natasha snorts at this.) “And you still won’t get paid enough.”

“And you’ll get told that you’re nothing more than a pretty face to look at or a nice warm body to fuck,” Maria adds.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Skye says sourly, fishing out a piece of peanut butter cup from her ice cream and stuffing it in her mouth.

Natasha rises, setting down her ice cream and moving over to the bar, snagging four wine glasses, two bottles of merlot, and a corkscrew. “You are in a room with three extraordinarily deadly women, Skye.” She sets the bottles down, then carefully does the same with the wine glasses. “Maria was a Marine, Melinda has her own family history with intelligence agencies, and I come from the Red Room, and this was all before we joined SHIELD. And yet, even we have experienced these things—continue to experience these things.”

“Great,” Skye says, accepting her glass of wine. “Then what’s a hacker supposed to do?”

“Learn,” Maria says. “Fight.”

“You turn what others see as weaknesses into weapons,” Natasha says, handing out the other glasses and taking her seat back next to Skye. “And Melinda says you’re already doing a good job of that.” Skye gives her a look that says she doesn’t quite believe her and Natasha elaborates. “Did you or did you not convince Ward that you were going along with his plan? Subvert his feelings for you into allaying his suspicions and giving you more time to work on alerting the authorities to a rogue SHIELD operative?”

Skye seems to contemplate her wine glass. “I suppose so.”

Natasha reaches out and tips up the girl’s chin. “Then you are learning. And we will make you ready for whatever comes next. May will train you on the Bus. But when you are here, you will also train with Maria and me.”

Natasha sees the girl’s mouth drop open a bit as Skye looks between the three women, and smiles. “Tomorrow, though. Tonight, we eat ice cream and drink wine.”

***

There is some argument over whether Darcy’s Chex mix is actually Chex mix.

“It has Chex in it, Tony,” she says, rolling her eyes as she pulls a Pyrex bowl out of the microwave.

“Yes, but it has no _mix_ , Lewis,” he says, peering into the bowl. “It’s just Chex. There’s no Cheerios, no pretzels, no peanuts, nothing. You don’t even put wheat Chex in there.”

“There is Chex,” Darcy says. “There is mixing involved. Therefore, this qualifies as Chex mix.”

“You make it in the microwave and not the oven!” Tony says, throwing his hands up.

“How would you know the difference?” Darcy says. “I heard about your last attempt to cook, Stark. It required fire extinguishers, and Pepper banned you from using anything more complicated than the coffee machine ever again.”

“Hey, my coffee machine is plenty complicated,” Tony says as Darcy rolls her eyes again and pulls a glass bottle of Coke out of the fridge.

“If you want Chex mix made ‘properly,’” she says, attempting to make air quotes while juggling her armful of snacks, “go buy a bag of it.”

She turns on her heel and heads into the other room where an ex-assassin sits on the couch, looking lonely, and in a fit of either insanity or brilliance, she sits down and throws her legs over his lap and says, “Hi, I’m Darcy,” and offers him the bowl.

***

While all of the other male Avengers are looking fantastic in tuxedos, Thor, naturally, attends the opening benefit for the Stark STEM Education Symposium in full ceremonial armor.

Well, fantastic might be overstating it, Pepper thinks, looking towards the corner where Steve and Barton were hiding until Thor joined them. Steve generally looks stiff and uncomfortable, (“No, you really can’t keep wearing a World War II era dress uniform to events, Steve.”) and somehow, Barton can manage to make a bespoke tuxedo look rumpled within ten minutes of putting it on.

“How are you enjoying the party, gentlemen?” she asks, strolling over to them.   Steve and Barton both mutter something polite to her that makes her smile behind her champagne glass.

Thor on the other hand is effusive with his praise. “Lady Pepper, this has delighted my Lady Jane much. If I did not know that Dr. Tyson was already wed, I might fear that he would steal her away.” He nods in Jane’s direction, and Pepper glances to see Jane (and Bruce) both in excited conversation with the benefit’s special guest, Neil deGrasse Tyson. She looks back, though, in time to see Thor’s incredibly fond expression still on his face. The Norse god never bothers hiding his love and admiration for Jane, and while it may occasionally make others roll their eyes with the saccharine sweetness of it (Tony), it’s too sweet not to smile at.

Thor does, however, break his attention away from Jane to turn back to the conversation. “This food,” he says, gesturing with a plate that looks tiny in his hand, with canapés that look even smaller in comparison. “It is quite interesting.”

“The stuffed mushrooms are good,” Steve agrees.

“But when does the feast itself begin?” Thor asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

Barton snorts, and Pepper sends him a glare that shuts him up immediately because he has learned that he _will_ pay for pissing her off.

(It would help if Steve wasn’t attempting not to laugh himself.)

“I think the best way to explain this is that this _is_ the feast, Thor,” Pepper says, slowly. “For receptions like this, we serve canapés and cocktails. There aren’t any awards or speeches tonight, so there wasn’t going to be a full dinner.”

(Barton leans over and “whispers” into Steve’s ear: “How you get so big eating food of this kind?” Steve nearly chokes on his champagne, and Thor, who has also now seen _Star Wars_ , grins too. Pepper plans appropriate retribution later. It may involve Coulson.)

Thor does turn his attention back to Pepper, however. “Should not a man as illustrious as Dr. Tyson be feted appropriately?”

It is a testament to many, many years of working with Tony that the first word out of her mouth is not “Yes.” “If this were a party for Dr. Tyson, I would agree, Thor. But this is a party to benefit an organization, of which both Tony and Dr. Tyson are both supporters.” She smiles and pats Thor’s arm. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll see if Dr. Tyson would like to join us for dinner tomorrow night upstairs.”

(He does. The evening goes well into the wee hours of the morning as he explains what it it’s like being an astrophysicist while black—Jane nods, being an astrophysicist while female means she faces some similar hurdles—Thor and Jane explain about the Bifrost in poetic and scientific terms, Jane and Bruce and Tony and Neil all begin speaking in math, which leads the others to start talking about other things, then there are questions about how Cap throws his shield and how Hawkeye manages some of his shots, and then Natasha starts telling stories about some of their weirder stunts and things just go downhill from there. Neil might end up crashing in one of Tony’s guest rooms and helping Bruce make waffles the next morning.)

***

They never eat shawarma again.

***

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d swear that living in the tower was like one of those stupid sitcoms that he flips past on the television, with the way that people seem to congregate in common areas of the tower. (It’s always the kitchen and the lounge, where there’s food and a television in close proximity. He half expects to turn on the television one day and to find JARVIS’ tower surveillance feed being broadcast on ABC for people to watch as entertainment.)

But if there’s someone in the kitchen making themselves something to eat, there’s a good chance he’s going to find Bucky somewhere in the vicinity watching. Eating from Darcy’s bowl of Chex mix had been a big step—not only did Bucky not eat something he hadn’t seen prepared in front of him, he didn’t usually eat pre-packaged meals either. They were easier to tamper with, he’d muttered under his breath one day as he inspected an egg before cracking it into a pan.

Bucky _is_ in the kitchen, but there’s no one cooking. Instead, his friend is standing at the counter with an armful of canvas bags, waiting. “What?” he asks.

“Wondering if you wanted to spar or something this afternoon,” Steve said, shrugging.

“No,” Darcy says, rushing into the room and taking a handful of the bags. “Sorry, James, Tony was being an ass. I finally just stole his wallet. Steve, you are not taking my farmer’s market buddy away from me. But you _can_ come with, if you want.”

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. “The farmer’s market?”

Bucky shrugs, taking his own handful of bags in his right hand and shoving his left into his pocket so the metal isn’t visible. “Darcy’s been taking me the last couple of Saturdays.”

“It’s fresh and a lot of it’s local,” Darcy says, marching them towards the elevator. “And eating locally is good for the environment, Steve. And it supports local economies.”

“We live in New York City,” Steve says, confused.

“Yes,” Darcy says, “but it’s not getting trucked in from California.”

The Union Square Greenmarket is huge, and Steve is amazed at the variety of food available. To be honest, he hasn’t done much shopping since he moved to New York, since JARVIS takes care of grocery deliveries and the like, but he watches as both Darcy _and_ Bucky move around the stalls, talking with the vendors, picking up and inspecting vegetables before paying and loading them into their bags. Darcy tastes a sample of goat cheese, eyes widening as she proclaims how delicious it is, then insists that both Steve and Bucky try a piece. Steve does so without complaint, and Bucky takes one cautious sniff before likewise popping it into his mouth.

Steve buys two packages of the cheese on the spot.

(“Oh my God, peaches!” Darcy squeals later, sprinting off toward a booth. Steve sees brief panic flash over Bucky’s face before his friend swears under his breath and stomps after her. Steve follows apace. “Smell,” she says, holding a peach up to Bucky’s face, and whatever irritation Bucky was feeling seems to fade from his expression as he breathes in the scent of ripe fruit.

She buys a dozen, and when they get back to the tower, she doesn’t even wait to unload the other bags, just pulls the peaches out, hands out knives, saying, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fan of a mouth full of peach fuzz,” and drags them over to the sink, peeling her own peach. They both follow suit, and all three of them stand over the sink, eating their peaches and letting the juice run down their chins, tart and just a little bit sweet. (It’s another surprise for Steve, because Bucky has refused to eat anything sweet either.)

“What is this?” Tony says, coming in, and the three of them all look over their shoulders guiltily, because, well, they might each be on their fourth peach, and not one of them is a bit sorry for not sharing, even if they might be sorry for eating them all at once later.)

***

The man formerly known as Nick Fury doesn’t have time to cook, motherfucker.

And even if he did, if you think he’d give up his mama’s jambalaya recipe, you’ve got another think coming, asshole.

***

“Feed me, Seymour!” Clint moans, coming into the kitchen and dramatically slumping into a stool.

Bruce chuckles over the tea he’s pouring himself—not enough for Clint to get a point on the “Make Bruce Laugh” scoreboard, but enough for Bucky to look up from the bowl of oatmeal he’s picking at. “You could do something imaginative and cook for yourself.”

“Phil’s gone, why bother?” Clint said. “I can order out— _not_ takeout,” he hurries to say. “You know, the healthy stuff from the kitchens downstairs that Tony gets. I tried to get Tasha to feed me this morning, but do you know what she has in her fridge? A bottle of vodka and a thing of mustard. That’s it!”

“Good,” Bucky says. “She’s hiding her main food supply the way I taught her in ‘67, then.”

Bruce shoots Clint a look, but the archer has gone very still, the kind of preternatural stillness that Bruce has only ever seen when Clint is watching a target. He flicks his gaze over to Bucky, who has taken another bite of his oatmeal, until the other man goes just as still as Clint.

Alarm bells go off in the back of Bruce’s head, and he feels the Other Guy wake up, growling in the tension, and he gently sets the teapot down. With the soft noise, a line appears over Bucky’s forehead, and he seems to shake his head. “Why did I say that?” he says.

Clint’s stance relaxes, and Bruce feels the Hulk grumble as he deliberately lets the tension run out of his shoulders. He reaches for another mug and pours Clint a cup of tea. The archer takes it gratefully, taking a sip. “That’s not the first time you’ve said something like that, Barnes,” Clint says, his tone carefully modulated, so it’s not accusatory.

“I don’t know why,” Bucky says, stabbing his spoon into the bowl hard enough that even through the oatmeal, the metal clinks against the ceramic. “I don’t _know_.”

Bruce reaches out, gently, staying in Bucky’s line of vision, and sets his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “That’s all right. It may come back to you in time. It may not. That’s okay. If you want help piecing it together, we will help. If you want to forget, you can. It’s up to you.”

“Natalia deserves to know,” Bucky says lowly.

“Barnes,” Clint says, “Tasha was born in 1984.”

Bucky looks up at him. “The Soviet Union fell in 1991, Baron. So why would someone who should have been seven at the time always refer to herself as a former-KGB agent?”

Bruce locks eyes with Clint for a moment and for a brief flash, before Clint can cover it, sees fear on Hawkeye’s face.

Bruce isn’t sure if Clint’s fear is for Natasha, or if his eyes have turned green.

***

There is one way that Clint knows everything is going to be all right between he and Phil—Mama Coulson’s receipt book takes up residence in his kitchen.

It is a ratty thing, held together with yellowed scotch tape that has long since lost its usefulness and finally, wrapped together with a rubber band. It’s got God knows how many years worth of stains on the front, splatters and sprays of oil that have been hurriedly wiped off with towels before whatever was cooking was returned to. Inside the cracking plastic sleeves are recipe cards filled with a distinctive handwriting belonging to Phil’s mother, and a few slips of paper with the spidery writing that Phil says was his grandmother’s. In between the pages are torn out magazine recipes, a card here and there with Phil’s angular scribble, even one or two that have been added (and kept) in Clint’s chicken scratch. Much of it is fading, and both Clint and Phil may open the recipe book to a page, but they are both cooking half as much from memory as recipe.

(Tony takes one look at it and pronounces it the saddest thing he’s ever seen. Both Clint and Phil give him dirty looks when he tells them that JARVIS can scan the whole thing so they can throw it out. Phil may threaten to throw Tony out of the Bus without the suit.

Later, Clint may ask JARVIS if he can scan everything in the book and save it anyway. The tower’s not the safest place to be, after all, and if something happens, at least the recipes would be saved. JARVIS complies, scanning them in full fidelity, right down to the spots.)

***

“Excuse me, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS interrupts, and Steve looks up from his book. “But Ms. Potts requested that I alert someone whenever Mr. Stark attempts to cook.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll get the fire extinguisher.”

***

On the second fourth of July that Bucky is with them, Steve does the unthinkable—and refuses to be part of any public celebration. It may be Independence Day, and it may be Captain America’s birthday, but it is also Steve Rogers’ birthday, and dammit, he deserves to have the day off.

(There is some speculation on the news about where he is, but Pepper simply smiles and releases a press release the next day that the Avengers had a private celebration for Captain Rogers, along with a few photos of Steve blowing out candles, Thor taking over the grill while Tony and Clint argue with tongs, and one of the Winter Soldier with an arm slung around his best friend while Steve is howling with laughter at something Bruce has said.)

What’s wonderful about it, to Steve, is that everyone he loves is there, even Coulson and his team. (Fury even sends him a card.) More than that, everyone seems to take his sensibilities into account and makes an effort to make it almost a homemade birthday. Pepper makes a [chocolate cake](http://tosche-station.net/bake-it-so-come-to-the-dark-side-we-have-chocolate-cake/) (with beer in it, Tony notes with delight), and Skye and Simmons make [pecan bars](http://tosche-station.net/bake-it-so-ryshcate-aka-bourbon-pecan-cake-bars/) (and they have bourbon, which delights Tony even more). Clint decides to man the grill, which has burgers and dogs and steaks. Clint’s dominion over the grill, however, lasts until Tony decides he needs to get involved. This devolves into a not-so-good-natured argument that requires Thor, who announces that he is well-versed in the roasting of meats, to take over the grilling and for Coulson and Pepper to drag their significant others away. (Jane has to come make sure that Thor cooks the burgers all the way through, though.)

Simmons tells Steve that Fitz helped make the deviled eggs, smiling as she does so, because it means that the scientist is getting back more of his motor control. Bucky sits by the young man and answers questions about his arm, Darcy nearby. Melinda, Maria and Skye are all toasting each other with beer. Bruce makes sure that he points out where the fire extinguishers are, as Tony apparently has fireworks planned for later in the evening. (JARVIS assures them that he has things under control.) There’s an epic outburst of swearing when Natasha convinces Sam and Trip to try some of Bruce’s curry without warning them about the spice.

For once, Steve thinks, taking a swig of his beer, surrounded by food and laughter, it feels like home.

 

 


End file.
